


kiss me, sweetheart

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Big Dick Richie Tozier, Bottom Richie Tozier, Bottoming from the Top, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Kissing, Fix-It, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Married Sex, Smut, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from Fancy Eddie?” Richie asks. Eddie rolls his eyes, but he goes to Richie anyways, pulling him in with a loose grip around one of his wrists until they’re close enough to kiss. They do, softly, kiss, before Eddie pulls back again.“I wanted to give you a special Valentine’s Day for once,” Eddie tells him. “You’re always the one trying to do all sorts of stuff for me every year on Valentine’s Day, butyou’rethe one who loves it so much. I should be doing all of this foryou.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 367





	kiss me, sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!!

**_1999_ **

Richie’s sort of a romantic at heart.

It doesn’t serve him well, because he’s been in love with Eddie since they met and that was twenty-six years ago, now, give or take a couple of months out of the womb. There’s nowhere to put all his romantic energy anymore, especially since he’s pretty much given up on dating as a whole. All he does is compare people to Eddie, so. He figures there’s no point. He’ll just be a fun uncle for his friends’ kids and be a cautionary tale for them to never fall in love with their best friends.

The closer he gets to Valentine’s Day every year, though, the sadder he gets. It bums him out. He wants to be romantic with Eddie, but he  _ can’t.  _ Every stupid romantic comedy, every pink-and-red commercial, every advertisement in every store — it’s fucking  _ everywhere.  _ He wants to do it all with Eddie, and he  _ can’t,  _ and because he can’t do it with  _ him,  _ he doesn’t want to do it with  _ anyone,  _ so. It’s just one horrible circle that ruins his February every year.

His friends have caught on to Richie’s month-long semi-depressive episodes every year, mostly because it blends in so seamlessly with his seasonal depression that its existence doesn’t seem  _ that  _ outrageous. Nobody seems to understand the cause— at least, not fully, though he thinks Bev and Stan have at least part of it figured out— but they all support him anyways. Eddie included.

Eddie  _ especially. _

The knock on his bedroom door on February 1st is unexpected, but Richie drags himself out of bed to answer it anyways. It’s Eddie, surprisingly, and he tosses Richie his coat and boots.

“Put those on,” Eddie tells him. Richie just stares at him, his arms full of outerwear. Eddie motions impatiently to them.  _ “Now,  _ please.”

“Why?” Richie asks, dropping everything on the ground, himself included, to pull his boots on. Eddie leans in the doorway, a light from the hallway making his eyes shine. Richie’s distracted for a moment before he looks down again, focusing on tying his laces.

“You get so sad every year around now,” Eddie tells him. “I’m gonna be proactive instead of reactive this year. We’re going out.”

“Out where?” Richie asks, finally shod. He tugs his coat on and accepts his winter hat when Eddie hands it over, tugging it down over his messy hair. Eddie spins his keys on his finger before motioning towards the door.

“Just out,” Eddie tells him. “Come on.”

Richie goes, more curious than anything. He feels a little caught-out, that Eddie’s noticed Richie’s annual mournful march through February  _ and  _ decided he needed to plan to do something about it, but at least it’s just Eddie. Nobody else accompanies them. It doesn’t even seem like anybody’s in their apartment; Stan’s and Bill’s doors are both closed and dark.

Eddie drives them to a bar downtown, parking in the back and putting his keys in Richie’s pocket. He notoriously can’t get them out of his jeans once he starts drinking, so that’s their safe place to stash them. Sometimes, the way they’ve carved their lives out around each other makes Richie ache, his chest twisting with pain, because someday Eddie will have to break off from him and Richie will just have all these empty holes that Eddie carved for himself. Nobody else will fit that. Nobody else can be like Eddie.

“Earth to Richie,” Eddie snaps, waving his hand in Richie’s face. Richie blinks down at him, then makes himself smile. “Don’t get started without me.”

“Sorry,” he says. “Just zoned out.”

Eddie’s frown softens a bit, and then he just pats Richie on the arm and jerks his chin in the direction of the bar.

The inside is much warmer than the outside, and much more crowded. Eddie all but drags him through a sticky floor packed with people to a corner table. He glares another couple off of it and pulls Richie around it. Richie can’t help but lean in; he lets Eddie’s shoulder brush his before he turns to whisper-shout into his ear.

“I can get the first round,” Richie tells him, but Eddie pushes him off and shakes his head.

_ “I _ took  _ you  _ out,” Eddie insists. “First round’s on me.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving Richie to look around the bar on his own. There’s dozens of people, and the place is packed to the gills. It didn’t start making him uncomfortable until he didn’t have Eddie to focus on anymore. Once Eddie’s back, two shots in each hand, Richie can’t help but throw his arm around his shoulders and reel him in, desperate to be close again.

“Took you long enough, Eddie Spaghetti,” he shouts over the music and conversations around them. Eddie rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t shrug him off as he lines the shots up on their table. They toss them back quick, one at a time, and a waitress passing by at the right time swaps their drinks out for them. Richie’s not sure how Eddie does it, but he keeps the conversation going while making sure they don’t stop drinking.

He doesn’t even notice, really, until it’s been an hour and they’re both more fucked up than he thinks they’ve ever been at the same time. Eddie’s all red-cheeked and glassy-eyed, laughing at every joke Richie makes and leaning his chin in his palm on the bartop. Richie can’t stop but stare back at him when Eddie gets that far-eyed stare on him, too. They spend a couple minutes staring at each other in silence, now and then, too drunk to speak.

After a bit, Eddie laughs, then shakes his head. “Man, February  _ sucks.  _ I fucking hate February.”

“Why the fuck do you think I get so bummed out this time of year, dude?” Richie asks. He runs his fingertip around the rim of an empty shot glass in the middle of their table. He’s too sloppy and off-balance; he accidentally knocks it over.

“You hate it, too?” Eddie asks. “Why?”

“Because of Valentine’s Day,” Richie tells him. He knows he shouldn’t be telling him that, he  _ knows  _ that, but he can tell Eddie anything. He knows  _ that,  _ too. As long as he doesn’t let the reason why he hates it slip, he’s  _ fine. _

“You never celebrate Valentine’s Day,” Eddie points out, brow furrowed. He sits up a little straighter, lifting his chin out of his hand. Instead, he locks his fingers together and lets his joined hands rest in his lap, looking intently at Richie. Richie can’t help but look intently right back, feeling his face flush pink.

_ “Because  _ I hate it,” Richie says, then shakes his head. It makes the room blur, so he shuts his eyes as he says, “No, that’s not true. I don’t hate it. I hate February because I  _ love  _ Valentine’s Day.”

“Then why don’t you celebrate it?” Eddie asks. Richie hesitates, frowning, then forces his eyes open. Eddie’s looking at him with that crease he always gets between his eyes when he’s concerned about something. Richie reaches up to press the pad of his thumb into it on impulse. It smoothes away as he touches it. Eddie looks up at him past his hand, and Richie’s not sure when they got this close, but Eddie’s eyes look huge from this angle.

“Because I don’t have anyone to celebrate it with,” Richie says, which is a half-truth. Eddie seems to sense this, even drunk, and scowls at him.

“What about me?” Eddie asks. Richie’s heart jumps, but then Eddie adds, “Or Bev, or— Or, I bet Stan wouldn’t mind? Or maybe I could find a— Find someone for you? Andrea down at the garage is looking too—”

“I’m not int—” Richie starts, then stops. They keep staring at each other, and Richie lowers his hand, slowly. He hadn’t even realized he was still touching Eddie’s face. His heart is pounding, but his entire universe has become laser-focused on Eddie in front of him. He can’t even look at anything else.

“What?” Eddie prompts, when Richie doesn’t start to finish.

“I’m not interested,” Richie says. “In— In women. At all.”

Eddie frowns again, then says, “Richie, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Richie shakes his head and starts to stand, but Eddie grabs him by the lapels and pushes him back down onto his barstool. Richie pushes at him and says, “Fuck off, let me go—”

“No,  _ listen  _ to me,” Eddie insists. “I didn’t know—  _ I didn’t know,  _ that’s— Why didn’t you tell me? Richie, I’m— Me, too.”

Richie’s heart is in his fucking throat when he asks, “What?”

“I’m gay, too,” Eddie repeats. “Me, too. I’m— I should’ve told you.”

“I should’ve told  _ you,”  _ Richie insists, before he feels his eyes prickle, and then he’s crying. Eddie looks alarmed, so Richie says, “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Eddie tells him. He reaches up to clumsily swipe at Richie’s cheek, but he almost falls off of his stool in the process, overbalancing to make up for his shorter arms and Richie’s height. Richie catches him and holds him tight, the two of them now only inches apart. Eddie swallows. Richie can  _ feel  _ it.

“I hate spending Valentine’s Day alone,” Richie confesses, because it feels like more neutral ground. Eddie nods, his eyes flicking between each of Richie’s. After a moment, they flicker down to his mouth instead. Richie’s heart jumps.

“Richie, I’ll be your Valentine this year,” Eddie tells him. Richie’s glad he’s holding Eddie over his sleeves, because his palms are slick with sweat as he swallows back his heart.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“You  _ are,”  _ Richie insists. “We  _ both  _ are.”

“Okay, fine,” Eddie says, “but that doesn’t mean— I know what I’m saying. Richie, I wanna kiss you so  _ bad,  _ can I kiss you? Please?”

Richie has never fucking expected  _ anything  _ like that to  _ ever  _ come out of Eddie Kaspbrak’s mouth. He stares down at him, shell-shocked. Eddie’s cheeks pink up again, and he starts to pull back. In a panic, Richie tightens his grip and hauls him back in, clutching his face with both hands, now, to kiss him fiercely. Eddie responds in kind, his hands tugging Richie by the belt loops until they’re both bent in half over their barstools.

“Fucking  _ shit,”  _ Eddie spits. He pulls away, then hooks his ankles in the bar near his feet on the stool and scoots himself closer to Richie. Once they’re close enough that their noses are brushing without either of them having to lean over empty space, he smiles and kisses Richie again, drawing him into a kiss over the bartop. Richie feels like he’s dreaming, maybe, or so drunk he’s hallucinating, but it  _ feels  _ real, so he takes it for everything it is.

Eddie’s the one who parts his lips first, a warm huff of air spreading through Richie’s mouth before he can even register that he’s done the same, too. Eddie takes it as the invitation it is and deepens their kiss. With shaking hands, Richie grips the back of Eddie’s head, threading his fingers through his hair to guide his head into a tilt that makes sparks shoot down his spine.

When they pull back, minutes later, Eddie’s lips are shiny and red and his glassy eyes are sparkling, and he’s grinning so wide his face looks like it’s about to bust open.

“Will you be my Valentine this year, Eddie?” Richie asks. Eddie nods, the tears finally spilling over for him, too. Richie tugs him in and lets him cry into his shoulder, rubbing his back as Eddie finally calms down.

When they get back to their place, they make it all the way to Richie’s room before the whole thing registers as real. Richie figures it out when Eddie’s pushing him down onto his bed and reaching to kiss him again, and his stomach lurches, and he has to push Eddie away before he’s grabbing the wastebasket from beside his bed. He vomits at least half of what they’d drank, and Eddie rubs his back, and they don’t talk about any of it the next day.

That doesn’t mean Richie doesn’t think about it constantly.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, so Richie doesn’t say anything. He thinks maybe Eddie forgot, or wishes he’d forgotten so he’s pretending he has. Either way, Richie’s following his lead, because he’s not going to lose his best friend over one stupid drunken night. It’s not fucking worth it.

Except.

Except Eddie had seemed so  _ genuine,  _ when he’d kissed Richie.

Except he’d seemed delighted to be Richie’s Valentine.

Except Richie’s been in love with him for decades, and it almost seems like he might not be crazy and Eddie feels the same.

Except Eddie keeps looking at him, in the two weeks between that night and Valentine’s Day, in a way that suggests, to Richie, that he not only remembers more than he’s letting on, but that he’s trying to figure out how to say something, too. Richie feels like his jaw is wired shut. He doesn’t know  _ what  _ to say. He feels like he should let Eddie take the lead, but he’s not sure if that’s a logical thought or just the anxiety and fear talking.

There’s too  _ much.  _ It’s  _ too  _ overwhelming, so, in the end, Richie does nothing. Well, almost nothing— He  _ does  _ pick up a Valentine’s card from the store on his way home, on Valentine’s Day, as a little joke for Eddie. They’ve done it before, so it’s not weird; the Losers exchange valentines all the time. Maybe it’ll jog Eddie’s memory, maybe it won’t. Maybe he’ll rightfully blow up about Richie not leaving well enough alone and Richie will have his answer.

At the kitchen table, Richie scrawls a note inside the card. Short and sweet. He brings it to Eddie’s door and hesitates, but he knocks. It’s just Eddie; he won’t get mad over a card, no matter what. It’s fine. It’s  _ fine. _

Eddie opens his bedroom door, and Richie holds the card out to him. With a raised eyebrow, Eddie takes it from him.

“Hello,” he says. He reads the front, and his whole expression softens more than it has in two weeks. Richie’s relieved to watch the happiness flicker onto Eddie’s face as he reads the glittery red text on the outside of the card and the corny little rhyme on the inside. He looks down, then, and reads Richie’s message.

“Well?” Richie asks. Eddie’s still staring down hard at the card, but his cheeks start flushing violently red, and Richie’s pulse jumps.

“I already told you I’d be your valentine, numbnuts,” Eddie mutters. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, then drops the card and pulls Richie in for a kiss. Richie grins, hands falling instinctively to Eddie’s hips, like they belong there. The two of them step together and slot into place, carving out the last spots for each other, and Richie can’t help but beam down at him.

“This went much better than I anticipated,” Richie tells him. Eddie kisses him again, tugging him down to his height so he can deepen the kiss on his terms. Richie lets himself get yanked down until Eddie’s backing him up and pushing his bedroom door shut.

“I love you,” Eddie tells him. Richie’s heart flies back into his throat again, but he lets himself cry this time, cupping Eddie’s face in his hands and kissing him softly.

“I’m so fucking glad,” Richie murmurs. He kisses him again, and again, and Eddie grabs his wrists and holds him tight. “I love you, too, by the way, in case that wasn’t—”

“No, it was abundantly clear,” Eddie assures him. Richie grins into the next kiss, even though it makes the kiss sloppy and even though Eddie playfully scolds him for it.

* * *

**_2020_ **

It’s been twenty-one years since Richie and Eddie got together, and twenty years since they got married, and four years since they both nearly died back in Derry with the other Losers, trying to destroy the monster that tried to destroy them. Miraculously, all seven of them survived, and now Richie thinks his life couldn’t be any better than it is. The worst part, for him, is that Valentine’s Day is on a Friday, and late night hosts still need to work on Fridays.

He’s late driving home, but Eddie knows he’s going to be. He usually doesn’t get home until eight, eight-thirty if there’s traffic, and there always is. He’s through the door at eight-forty-five, on the dot, and he stops in his front doorway with a frown, because the place is pitch-black.

No, not pitch-black. His eyes just need to adjust, but there’s candles  _ everywhere.  _ He slowly shuts the front door behind himself.

“Eds?” he calls out. He toes off his shoes and leaves them with his jacket and his bag by the door. “Eddie? Hello? Should I call the fire department?”

“No!” Eddie shouts back to him from somewhere deep in their apartment. Richie can hear the sound of him getting to his feet, wherever he is, and then he comes into their living room in a suit, and Richie’s heart skips a beat, quite literally. He grins.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit from Fancy Eddie?” Richie asks. Eddie rolls his eyes, but he goes to Richie anyways, pulling him in with a loose grip around one of his wrists until they’re close enough to kiss. They do, softly, kiss, before Eddie pulls back again.

“I wanted to give you a special Valentine’s Day for once,” Eddie tells him. “You’re always the one trying to do all sorts of stuff for me every year on Valentine’s Day, but  _ you’re  _ the one who loves it so much. I should be doing all of this for  _ you.” _

Richie’s grinning like a loon now, he’s sure of it, but he can’t help it. Eddie looks so  _ earnest _ and their apartment is filled with  _ candles  _ and his heart’s in his  _ mouth. _

“I love you so much,” Richie tells him. He pulls Eddie in for another hard kiss, and Eddie laughs into it before he separates them.

“Come with me, I have something for you,” Eddie says. Richie’s excited and forever thirteen at heart, thrilled at the prospect of getting a gift, too, in addition to all of whatever  _ this  _ is.

True to form, Eddie blows out each of the candles in the living room before he lets them go to the bedroom, but he wouldn’t be the man Richie loves so fucking much if he didn’t. There’s more candles in the bedroom, at least, but there’s also flowers fucking  _ everywhere. _

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes.

“They’re fake flowers,” Eddie says. He looks over all the rose petals scattered on their bed and the floor and tells him, “I was nervous that one of us might have an allergic reaction or maybe attract bugs or something so I—”

“Shh,” Richie says, putting one finger against Eddie’s lips. Eddie rolls his eyes again, but he smiles and quiets as Richie takes in the room. There’s a bouquet of a dozen red roses tied together on their bed, too, with an almost cartoonish box of chocolates shaped like a red heart. Richie can’t help but put his hand over his mouth as he realizes that what he thought was weird confetti at the end of the bed is actually a bunch of kids’ valentines.

“They’re for you,” Eddie tells him, and Richie sobs around his hand. He slides it up to cover his eyes, briefly, before he wipes at them and follows Eddie to the bed. Each of the little valentines has a sweet, short message from Eddie on it, something cute, something funny, something tender. Richie reads each one and lets himself cry freely before Eddie takes them away from him.

“Don’t throw them away,” Richie insists. Eddie piles them in Richie’s bedside table drawer instead on his insistence, so he can read them again later when his brain has booted back up. Eddie holds up one finger, then goes to their closet.

“One last thing,” he tells him. He grabs something off the floor of the closet, but Richie can’t make it out in the flickering candlelight until Eddie’s approaching him with it. The stuffed bear in Eddie’s hands makes Richie laugh; it’s soft, too, and wearing a little red ribbon around its neck, and it’s just so silly and thoughtful that he has to kiss Eddie for it.

“I love you so much,” Richie tells Eddie tearfully. Eddie smiles and kisses him again, tugging him down until his back’s hitting the mattress and Eddie has to shove the teddy bear and chocolates and flowers to the floor to avoid landing on any of it. There’s rose petals everywhere as Eddie makes quick work of Richie’s clothes, but his own are harder to get out of.

“I didn’t think this through,” Eddie says, when he’s yanking off his cufflinks by the dresser while Richie waits, stretched out naked on their bed, reading the labels for the chocolates in the heart-shaped box. He eats one with a liquid-cherry center while Eddie undresses, and slips the caramel one between Eddie’s lips when he comes back to the bed.

“Thank you,” Richie says. Eddie grins, tasting like caramel when he kisses Richie again. The taste of cherry lingers on both of their lips when they separate.

“Thank  _ you,”  _ Eddie echoes, but he doesn’t say for what. Instead, he draws Richie into a deeper kiss, longer, harder, pushing him flat on his back again. He pulls away only for a moment to put the lid back on the chocolates and drop it over the side of the bed. He runs his hands over Richie’s chest long, slow, nails dragging. Richie can’t help but groan, heat pooling in his stomach. “What do you want?”

“You,” Richie tells him. Eddie drops his head and noses along the shell of Richie’s ear before he bites into the sensitive skin just underneath it. Richie groans again as Eddie gently sucks in a hickey there, biting at the thin skin until Richie’s reaching up to tangle his fingers tightly in Eddie’s hair. Breathlessly, he asks, “Is that— Is that okay?”

“You can have anything you want,” Eddie says. He sits up again, then forward, settling himself over Richie’s chest. He strokes Richie’s hair back from his face, then presses the pad of his thumb into the center of Richie’s bottom lip. Richie lets him draw his mouth open slowly until it’s hanging slack and he’s just looking up at Eddie, waiting.

Eddie only waits for a few heartbeats before he leans forward, sitting on Richie’s chest with his thighs on either side of his head. Slowly, he lets the head of his hard cock slip between Richie’s lips. Briefly, it rests on his bottom lip. He chances a lick at the slit, and Eddie shivers, his hand coming down to grip the frame of the headboard.

Overjoyed that this is what Eddie’s landed on for them tonight, Richie lets Eddie feed him his cock, inch by inch. Richie tries to twitch up, but Eddie pushes him back down with a gentle hand on his cheek. He cups his face, then brushes his hair back again, smoothing it away from his face. Eddie grips the headboard tight again and tangles his hand in Richie’s hair with the other hand, slowly rocking his hips in long movements, fucking Richie’s face while Richie licks a hot line up his shaft.

Richie’s sort of a mess for Eddie’s cock, so he’s bummed when Eddie sits back and pulls it free of Richie’s lips. He lets him go, watching and waiting as Eddie roots through his bedside table drawer and comes up with lube.

“I’m going to ride you,” Eddie tells him. Richie nods vigorously, because he’s harder than he’s been in a  _ while  _ just from Eddie sitting on his chest like that. He’s delighted that there’s no wait time; after slicking Richie’s dick with a few easy, tight strokes, Eddie’s already guiding him to his loose, slick hole. The thought of Eddie spending time writing valentines  _ and  _ fingering himself open for Richie is overwhelming.

“I love you,” Richie tells him insistently. Eddie smiles up at him, then pushes down in one smooth movement until he’s fully seated on Richie’s cock, making Richie gasp his name and slam his eyes shut. Eddie’s hand falls over his heart, his nails digging in briefly before he rolls his hips once, slowly. He does it again, more rocking than riding. Richie holds his hips with a light touch as Eddie gently rocks himself down on his cock.

“I love you,” Eddie finally says back. Richie smiles, and Eddie lets his head fall back, his sweaty curls hanging slightly as he clenches down on Richie’s dick. He moans, softly, then shifts and stills. He exhales.

“You okay?” Richie asks quietly. Eddie nods.

“Stay still,” Eddie orders him. Richie does as he’s told. Eddie does this now and then; if he finds the right position on Richie’s cock, he’ll just stop to savor the sensation of it. It’s hard not to feel a little full of himself, knowing that  _ Eddie _ loves being— well, so full of himself. Tonight, though, it just makes his heart throb to watch Eddie exhale shakily, savoring the feel of Richie’s big cock buried deep in his ass.

After a long moment, all the breath punches out of Eddie’s lungs, and he huffs a laugh, his head falling forward again as he opens his eyes to look Richie dead in the eye.

“It’s like you were  _ made  _ for me,” Eddie says. Richie makes an embarrassingly high sound, shutting his eyes when he feels them fill up with tears.

_ “Eddie,”  _ is all Richie can manage in response, when Eddie starts to move again. It’s still just that gentle rock, back and forth, Eddie’s nails digging into Richie’s shoulder before he clenches tight around him and  _ moans,  _ long and low. He cums untouched between them, all over his own chest and Richie’s, but he just breathes through it, hard and fast.

When he starts coming down, Eddie’s head drops forward, and then he bends to kiss Richie, hot and slow. He shifts, sliding off of Richie's cock. He settles between Richie’s legs instead, pushing Richie’s knees apart with his soft palms.

“Can I?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, and Eddie drops his head to lick a hot line up Richie’s cock, just like Richie had done for him earlier. He pins Richie’s hips to the mattress with his hands and takes Richie as deep as he can, nearly all the way, until he’s swallowing around him and tamping down his gag reflex. For a moment, neither of them moves, but then Eddie pulls halfway off and shifts, doing something with his hands. Richie hears another  _ click. _

A few moments later, Eddie’s fingertip is circling Richie’s entrance, and he exhales roughly. He pushes inside and finds Richie tense, tight and close to orgasm, so he slicks two fingers and uses them to scissor him open instead. He manages to get Richie stuffed full with three, brushing up against his prostate as he fucks him with his fingers. Between that and the sensually slow and tender way he’s sucking him off, all soft licks and deep swallows, it’s not long before Richie’s tugging at his hair.

Eddie shakes his head, minutely, but the sensation on Richie’s dick is enlightening and the feeling it gives him is addictive. Eddie reaches back and pushes Richie’s hand a little harder into his head, and so when Richie cums, he cums down Eddie’s throat. Eddie finishes him off like a champ, taking it all until Richie’s wrung out and shaking against their mattress.

When Eddie pulls off his cock, it’s with a salacious, soft  _ pop;  _ Richie looks down to see a thin string of saliva between his dick and Eddie’s lips, and he catches him lick it to break it before his eyes flick up to look at Richie.

“Not a word,” he says. Richie drops his head back into their pillows, laughing, which just makes Eddie laugh, too, before he collapses next to Richie in bed. Eddie turns them until he’s flat on his back and Richie’s curled up around him like the clingy creature he is, his face buried in Eddie’s chest. His glasses are digging into Eddie’s shoulder at an angle, but he hasn’t complained yet; the only reason Richie hasn’t taken them off is because he wants to keep looking at Eddie clearly.

“Thank you,” Richie says again. Eddie strokes Richie’s hair absently, looking up at their ceiling before he shifts to kiss Richie’s temple instead.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Eddie tells him. Richie grins, turning his blushing face into Eddie’s chest like he isn’t past forty years old and twenty years past married. Eddie kisses his temple again, then again; after a moment, he tips Richie’s chin up, then kisses him softly. He pulls back only to peel a fake rose petal off of Richie’s sweaty cheek with a smile before kissing him again. “I got you something else.”

“What?” Richie asks. Eddie leans over and grabs a pink box off his own nightstand and turns it over to Richie. He just grins as he opens the box of conversation hearts and shakes out a handful. He gives a few to Eddie, and Eddie picks through them. He reads one with a smile, then lifts it. It says  _ kiss me. _

Richie smiles as he obliges, lifting himself up a bit so he can kiss Eddie soft, slow, lingering in his mouth, letting his tongue slip along Eddie’s before pulling back again. Eddie smiles and pops the heart in Richie’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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